 Lipton tea and Lipton soup presents Inner Sanctum Mysteries. Good evening, fiends. I mean friends of the Inner Sanctum. This is Raymond, your host, inviting you through the squeaking door. Don't hesitate to come right in. Oh, it's a bit dark. Careful, don't brush up against that skeleton. Oh, he's quite harmless, I assure you. He's only the skeleton in our closet. Come out for a bit of air. The idea of a skeleton coming out for air? Such nonsense. Oh, you mean because it's already so well ventilated? Oh, how do you do, Mary Bennett? Hello, Mr. Raymond. Now, you tell me truthfully. Is there a family skeleton in your closet? Yes, indeed. And what's more, we make no bones about it. But I'd like to really get him out of the closet. I need space to store my Lipton's noodle soup. What a silly thing to say. You know very well that Lipton's noodle soup comes in a tidy little package that takes up hardly any room at all. Oh. In fact, this Lipton's is convenient all the way around. It takes hardly any time to make, costs less, and makes lots more than canned soups. And when it comes to flavor, nothing can beat Lipton's. It's a grand homemade tasting noodle soup with a chickeny flavor. And folks, Lipton's is just swimming with tender golden egg noodles. It's like I always say, you just don't know how good noodle soup can be till you've tried Lipton's. And like I always say, tonight put a tight half on your head or your hair won't rise and get ready to listen to no coffin of a dead. It's an original story by Emil Tepperman. And our star tonight is that famous radio actor Les Tremaine who plays the part of Tom Archer. Along the swanky East River Drive, all is quiet, except for the footsteps of two men who've hurried toward one of the many tall apartment houses. Let me introduce you quickly to these two men for death strikes out at them. The man on the outside, the tall, blond man, is District Attorney Tom Archer. The other one, the lean, dark-haired fellow, is Tom Archer's assistant, John Frane. Tom's really worried about some. I'll walk you to the door of your house, John. I don't like you being out alone this late at night. Whoever's been sending you those threatening letters isn't John. Look out, John, that fellow in the alley with a knife. Look out, John, that man! Oh, you... you've killed him. You've killed John Frane. Don't keep back you... I was at night, you don't... Don't stab me! Well, that... that devil... killed John Frane. Stab me. I'll remember his face if I... ever see him again. I'll remember. When I began to regain consciousness after that attack, I was lying on the ground at the mouth of a little alley near John Frane's home. A fussy little ambulance in turn had just finished working over me. There was a small crowd around me, and I glimpsed the face of Detective Inspector Lambert, just behind the interim. There. Feel better now, Mr. Archer? How is he, Doc? Proud about getting him fixed up, Inspector Lambert. I think he'll be all right. He's conscious now. Can I talk to him? Yeah, but better not move him for a few minutes till the shock wears off. Why are you, Mr. Archer? Well, pretty good. I feel like a mummy with all these bandages. Yeah, both hands. What do they do? Jump you with knives? Oh, we... we were passing the alley. John and I... John. What happened to John Frane? Speak up, Inspector. What happened to John? Now, take it easy, Mr. Archer. John's dead. They got him in the back, right through the heart. Oh, miserable heaven. John. Did you get a look at the killers, Mr. Archer? Could you identify them? Well, there was only one man. He came out of the alley. He stabbed John, and then he swung at me. I didn't have time to go for my gun, so I caught the blade in my bare hands. He ripped the knife away and stabbed at me. I don't know how many times. Six stab wounds, Mr. Archer. You're darn lucky none of them hit a vital spot. That was a brave thing, Brad, and the knife with your bare hands. Probably saved your life. That's the mistake the killer made, and I've seen his face. I'll catch up with him if it takes the rest of my life. A bit shaky on my feet when Inspector Lambert and the intern helped me up, but I insisted on going over to where the body of John Frayn lay, covered with a white sheet. Even I saw Susan leaning against the great, covered-ing bulk of old Mrs. Hogan, her housekeeper. She was looking down at the shroud that covered her husband's body. It was God's will, Mrs. Frayn. Susan. Oh, Tom. Tom, I can't believe it. The John... Be brave, Susan. John's dead. Nothing I can say will replace him. Have you any idea who the murderer is? No, I saw his face for a moment. That's all. But I'll recognize it again, I'm sure. Mr. Archer, here's something we found in the alley. What is it, Inspector? Looks like the charm of a watch fob. It's broken off. A charm? You recognize it, Mrs. Frayn? Oh, no. No, it can't be. It can't be. No, no, of course not, Susan. There are hundreds of watch charms like this one. Watch charm it. My younger brother, Peter, wears one just like it. Oh, nonsense, Lambert. You can buy those in any jewelry store. Besides, I saw the killer's face. It wasn't Pete. Mrs. Hogan. Yes, Mr. Archer? Please take Mrs. Frayn upstairs now. That'll do. Come along, darling. I'll see you later, Susan. Oh, please stay here, Tom. You'll hurt all those wounds. I'll be okay. Right now, I've got to go downtown with Inspector Lambert and look at pictures while that murderer's face is fresh in my mind. At headquarters, I looked through hundreds of pictures in the rogue's gallery. It was just two hours before I came upon the photograph. Lambert, this is our man. You're sure? Positive. I'll never forget that face. Turn it over. Let's see the name quick. Right. What heavens? Bart Hogan. That would be the son of old Mrs. Hogan, the Frayn housekeeper. Lambert and I both remembered the case of Bart Hogan. It went back five years before John Flane had married Susan. Bart Hogan had lived with his mother, both working for Susan's father. One day, Bart Hogan had snatched up a kitchen knife and attacked Susan's father with mad fury, only John's lucky arrival would save the old man. John subdued Bart Hogan. The mad youngster had been committed to the state of Silam for life, but he had escaped seven months ago. Nobody had heard from him since then until tonight. Great Scott. So that murderous kid has come back after all these years to get his revenge. I'm going back to the Frayn house. Mrs. Hogan, you think you might know where our son can be found? Who knows? I'll talk to her anyway. Uh, by the way, Mr. Archer, yes? While you're up there, suppose you just kind of check on whether Brother Pete has lost his watch charm. The Frayns occupied a top floor duplex in the riverfront apartment house. I took the elevator up, and Mrs. Hogan admitted me. I'll take your hat and coat, Mr. Archer. Thank you. Mrs. Hogan, where's your son, Bart? Bart? Oh, I just asked after Bart. Have you seen or heard from him since he escaped from the state of Silam? What makes you ask that? Mrs. Hogan, there's reason to believe that the person who attacked us in the alley is your son, Bart. Oh, no, no. Never say that, Mr. Archer. I'm afraid it's true. No, it couldn't be. I swear to you, it couldn't be Bart. Why not? I can't tell you why, but it wasn't Bart, I'm sure. What makes you so sure? You know where he's been hiding since his escape? Do you know where he is now? Heaven help me. If you know where he is, you must give him up. But he didn't do it, he didn't. Believe me, Mrs. Hogan, I understand how you feel. But it'd be far better for Bart to go back to the state of Silam and to be hunted for this new crime than to do it. Mr. Archer, if I prove to you that Bart couldn't have done it, would you let him be, not make him go back to the Silam? Well, I don't know what to say. You see, I was downtown just now and I recognized the picture of the man who attacked us. It turned out to be your son. There's very little chance that I was mistaken. But if I prove that he couldn't have done it... How can you prove it? Well, I'll show you. Her usually ruddy face was drained of blood as she led me up the stairs to the upper floor of the duplex and then along the hall to her room. I always keep the door locked. Go inside, please. I don't see anything in this room, Mrs. Hogan. Well, over here, please, take the closet. Is that you, Ma? Is that you? It's all right, Bart, darling. I brought a good friend. Good heavens! You've been hiding him here in this closet? For seven months now. When he escaped from the asylum he came here, I cleared out the closet. Just holds the cot. He lies in there night and day. Where's he, Ma? Why'd you bring him? What's he want? I'm sorry, Bart. Mr. Archer won't hurt you. He wants to ask you some questions. Bart, have you been out of this room tonight? Out? Me? Not a chance. He tells the truth, Mr. Archer. Here. I'll pull the blanket back and show you the proof. There. Look at his legs. He was shot in both legs when he escaped from the asylum. I couldn't get medical attention for him in the wounds never healed properly. I see. You must believe me now, Mr. Archer. Bart couldn't be one who attacked you because he'll never be able to walk as long as he lives. Well, now, if Bart Hogan didn't do it and mind you, I said yes, then who did kill poor John Frane? Well, whoever killed him must have been a rather cheerful person because he took life so cheerfully. Cheerful indeed. Mr. Raymond, you've always had such gruesome thoughts on your mind. You wouldn't recognize something that you've never seen before. Mr. Archer. Mr. Archer. If it was on your mind, you wouldn't recognize something cheerful if you met right up with it. Oh, now, Mary, aren't you being a bit unfair? No, I'm not. You just don't know what folks like. But you listen to me because I'm going to make a suggestion that'll please everyone. Folks, if you want to give the boys overseas a real taste of home, why not send them a package or two of Lipton's noodle soup? It's so easy to do. That soup makes a mighty good snack for the boys. And when they receive Lipton's noodle soup mix, they're getting that old-fashioned kind of chickeny-tasting noodle soup. So send a package or two of Lipton's to your favorite service man. That's a terrific suggestion. And here's another thing that pleases me. There seems to be plenty of murder ahead in tonight's story. You remember that pretty little girl, Susan? Well, looks like she's next on the murderers list. How about that, Tom? Come on, call us more and don't spare the door. When I entered the living room on the lower floor a few minutes later, Susan and Peter were there with Arnold Matson, the lawyer. I tell you, this is a serious problem, Susan, and we've got to find an answer to it. But there is no answer, Mr. Matson. Oh, Tom, thank heaven you've come at last. Hello, Susan. Hello, Peter. Hi. You know Mr. Matson, of course. Of course. I understand, Mr. Archer, that you narrowly escaped the same fate as poor John. Well, I was lucky. Those bandages must be a nuisance. I can stand them. Bandages are better than a shroud. By the way, Peter, that looks like a new watch charm you're wearing. What, this? I lost the other one someplace, so I bought a new one. What of it? Oh, nothing. Now, Mr. Matson, when I came in, you were saying something about a serious problem. Exactly. As you know, Susan's father left in a state of a million and a quarter dollars in a trust fund to be paid to Susan on her 23rd birthday. Yes, yes, I know. And she'll be 23 next month. But there's a proviso in the well, Mr. Archer. In order to receive the inheritance, Susan must be married and living with her husband on that date. Please, Mr. Matson, I don't want to talk about the money. Yes, but don't you see? You'll lose it all. Will distinctly says that you must be living with your husband. If not, then the money goes to eight charities except for $50,000 to Peter. I don't care. I don't care what happens to the money. Without John, it doesn't matter. Well, Peter, it'll be a break for you. What do you mean by that, Matson? Well, there's no need to become enraged, Peter. I only pointed out... Well, you're filthy, right? I'll show you! Get off me! All right, all right, take your hands off me. Why are you looking at me like that? Because if you thought I killed John, we'll save. Why don't you say what you think? Better cool off a little, Pete. This is no time for a scene. Yeah? For that matter, Tom Archer, what about you? You'd like to marry Susan yourself, wouldn't you? Why, you rotten little... Better cool off a little, Tom. This is no time for a scene. I'm sorry. Yes, Peter, you're right. I would like to marry Susan. You know that, don't you? Yes, Tom, I know. You two look at each other like a couple of puppies in love. I'm going to get a drink. And that's to the $50,000. Hey, George, I've got it. Got what, Mr. Matson? The solution. The solution to our problem. What are you talking about? That's it. Don't you see, Susan? You can marry Tom Archer here, and then you'll be able to legally claim the estate on your birthday. Well, that's a pretty callous thing to suggest, Matson. Callous? I'm a lawyer. It's my duty to protect my client. I... I couldn't do it. Of course not. Look here, Susan. Is there anyone else in the world who's dead? I... I don't know. I... I can't think. What's the difference? Are you still looking for clues, Archer? You know who the murderer is, young Bart Hogan. I look further. Bart Hogan? Matson. How did you know about Bart Hogan? What? What do you mean? Well, I just come from Inspector Lambert's office. There was nobody present when we found Hogan's picture. How did you know about it? Well, it's really quite simple. I phoned headquarters a little while ago and I didn't know what to do. What's that? You come quick in the kitchen. Come along, Matson, quick. You stay here, Susan. All right, Pete, take it easy. We're coming. Down the hall, the kitchen. You open the door. I can't. Look, go ahead, Archer. Open it. Good heavens. It's Mrs. Hogan. She lay on the kitchen floor on her back with blood all over her clothes. The blood came from a gaping knife wound in her throat. And the knife lay on the floor alongside her. I found her that way. Her body is warm. She was killed within the last 10 or 15 minutes. Then the killer is running loose somewhere in the house. Susan. She's alone. Good heavens. They're on the floor. Susan. Susan, darling. Is she dead? No, no, she's... She's only fainted. The shock. It's all right, Susan. What happened? What happened? Was it... Was it Mrs. Hogan? Yes. Oh. We don't know. But the killer's in the house. That mad man is never to kill a sore one at a time. I have a revolver. Let's search the house. Right. Madsen, you go in the kitchen and stand guard over that knife. There may be fingerprints on it. Very well. Peter, you stay here with Susan. Here's my gun. Don't be afraid to use it. Now, wait. Wait just a minute. What is it, Madsen? Has it occurred to you... the killer may be one of us? One of us? What are you looking at me for? You were out of this room for quite a while. Why, you are a killer! Look out again! That's better. I'll take the gun. He was going to shoot me. I'm sorry. I lost my head. Susan, I'm sorry you have to go through all this. Everybody's on edge. There's a killer loose in the house and we've got to find him. Yes, Tom. I know you'll do whatever's right. I'll try. You too. You can both stay here with Susan. I'll search the house myself. Madsen, call the police. How can you hold the gun with your hands all bandaged? You can't pull the trigger. I'll use it as a club. Don't move out of this room until I return. Be careful, Tom. You mustn't let anything happen to you too. Slowly up the stairs to the upper floor, gripping the gun by the barrel in my bandaged hand. At the end of the hall, I stopped before the door of Mrs. Hogan's room. I opened the door with the keys. Inside the room, the closet door was open. Bart Hogan was still lying on his cot. He must have been expecting me. His eyes were wild with terror. He had a long pencil clutched in his right hand, the only weapon he could find to use against me. His left fist was clutched into a tight ball. He watched me, stiff with fear, as I moved slowly toward him, across the room. Keep away from me. I had no time to waste on him. I swept aside the fist that clutched the pencil and brought the revolver button down hard on his forehead. I went over to the window, opened it. Then I went back to the bed and pulled the sheet. Pulled it away, lifted him. His weak and withered legs dangled uselessly. I carried him over to the window, rested him against the sill. He opened his eyes. He was recovering from the blow. I didn't wait. I pushed hard. He went toppling out of the window. I leaned over and saw the body strike against the 10th floor setback, then go hurtling into the air and smashed down upon the pavement far below. There wasn't enough of him left to perform an autopsy on. They'd never know his legs had been no good, that he hadn't been able to walk. Everything would be easy sailing from here on. Susan would marry me to save the estate. A million and a quarter dollars. Oh, I've been clever enough. When I called out that fake warning at the mouth of the alley, I myself stabbed John in the back. Then I sliced myself up. They'd taken my story of face value, Lambert and the others. I'd guessed that Mrs. Hogan was hiding Bart, but just as a precaution, I'd stolen Peter's watch chain and dropped it at the scene of the crime in case I should need another suspect. But when I found Bart couldn't walk, it became necessary to kill Mrs. Hogan too, for she was the only one who could tell the police that Bart hadn't been able to walk. All I had to do now was go down and say I'd found Bart, we had fought, and he had fallen from the window. The perfect crime. I took one more last look down into the street, where a crowd had gathered around Bart's body. I was able to make out the figure of Inspector Lambert, bending over what was left of him. And I saw Lambert force something out of the clenched left fist of the dead body. In a flash, I remembered that feeble little pencil with which Bart had tried to defend himself. I pulled in my head from the window and glanced across to the closet. I saw it at once. A small white scratch pad. I rushed across the room and snatched up the pad. There, on the topmost page, were the indentations of what Bart Hogan had written on the page, and then a torn-off. I could read it clearly. I could almost imagine his terrified voicing of the frightened appeal as he wrote it. Mr. Killme, he wants them to think I killed John Frayne, but I can't walk. Bart had written that note, meaning to throw it out the window, but I had come back too soon for him, and I had thrown it out of the window for him. I went back to the window and looked down. I saw Lambert peering up, then he turned away and hurried toward the entrance of the building. He's coming for me. There's only one thing for me to do now. I've locked the door. It'll take time to break it down. In the meantime, I've taken the bandage off my right hand. I'm writing a full account of tonight's work. I gambled for a fortune, and I lost. I love that boy, so... Yes, sir, he seemed like such a nice young man. Well, his trouble was he tried to commit the perfect crime without first practicing up on minor crimes. He should have started by stealing watermelons and maybe tried his hand at robbing mail trains. Mr. Raymond, what are you suggesting? And just when I was getting ready to tell people that I had a bowl of soup to the boys overseas. Wouldn't the soup get cold by the time it arrived? Oh, of course not. Why, Lipton's noodle soup mix comes in a flat package. You simply send it along to your favorite soldier. And he'll be pleased by your little gift because this noodle soup is just like a... well, just like a taste of home. So, impose a package or two of Lipton's the next time you're right to him. Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, you have to go so soon. But drop in again next Tuesday for another little blood fest. You know, some people have to commit murders to get a kick out of life. Others get their satisfaction from listening to inner sanctum. But, uh, word of advice. If you've got to commit a murder, please don't get yourself caught. Because if you do, you'll surely get a free ride with the only person never bothered by backseat drivers. I mean, that they're... curse drivers. By the way, this month's inner sanctum mystery novel is A Time to Die by Hilda Lawrence. And now I guess it's time to close at their squeaking door until next week when Lipton Tea and Lipton Soup bring you another inner sanctum mystery directed by Hyman Brown. So, until then, good night. Pleasant dreams. Folks, here we are outside the squeaking door. And I guess we're all pretty shaken up after hearing about those murders. But I know just the thing that'll help us back to normal again. It's Lipton Tea. Yes, a cup of that brisk Lipton Tea would do just fine. And did you notice that word brisk? B-R-I-S-K. It's a mighty important word in tea language. The tea experts always use it. It means that Lipton Tea has a lively flavor. It's never wishy-washy. That's why most folks prefer Liptons to any other kind. Now, don't forget, that's Lipton Tea. And don't forget to tune in again next Tuesday night to Inner Sanctum. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.